


Forgive Me

by LavenderJam



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Adultery, Affair era, Blasphemy, Church Sex, Confession, Dirty Talk, F/M, Impromptu Priest-Congregant Roleplay, Kissing in the Rain, Mutual Masturbation, Sorry to the poor woman who got caught in the crossfire of their dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28816488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavenderJam/pseuds/LavenderJam
Summary: “Come on. Show me.” He grabbed two votive candles in red glass holders and dipped into one of the chambers. He placed them on the small shelf that sat beneath the curtain dividing the confessional, dousing the tiny space in a ruby glow, and settled against the wood. She sighed, and then he heard a floorboard creak and her dress rustle as she sat down too.A warm silence hung between them. “Who speaks first?” he said.“I do,” she said. “I make the sign of the cross, and then I say: forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”(While sheltering from a rainstorm, Marisa takes Asriel to church.)
Relationships: Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 41





	Forgive Me

**Author's Note:**

> “Why would I tell you my sins?”  
> “Because it will make you feel better! And because I want to know!”  
> ...  
> “And I’ve stolen things. I’ve had _a lot_ of sex outside of marriage. And once or twice inside someone else’s. And there’s been a spot of sodomy. There’s been much masturbation, a bit of violence, and of course the endless fucking blasphemy!”  
> ...  
> “Kneel.” - Fleabag, season two, episode four
> 
> “I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.  
> I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.  
> Offer me that deathless death.  
> Good God, let me give you my life.  
> Take me to church.” - Take Me to Church, Hozier

For a moment, Asriel wondered if his watch had stopped, so slowly were the minutes passing as they whiled away enough time to create an alibi that met Marisa’s stringent standards. He’d assumed that the lecture itself would suffice, but as they’d plotted their exit strategy in a dark corridor of the Institute during the short break in the middle of the presentation, she’d insisted that they also attend the reception that followed for at least an hour, to his great displeasure. He’d tried to protest, but she’d swallowed his rebuttal by entwining her tongue with his, and the thought of any further resistance had been extinguished by the feel of her hand stroking him through the cotton twill of his trousers. It was only later that he regretted succumbing to the idiocy of arousal, a glass of cheap red held loosely in his hand, a flow of forgettable faces drifting past him and thirty-four minutes to go until she’d agreed they could slip away.

He hung on for as long as he could bear, which turned out to be nine more minutes. He had no interest in conversing with the other attendees, his presence at this event merely a tedious part of their foreplay, and there was only so long he could busy himself watching her before he started to arouse the sorts of suspicions that this entire charade had been concocted to avoid. It was hard not to glue his gaze to her, though: the burgundy wool of her dress clung sumptuously to her torso and the intricate gold beading at the hem twinkled as she swanned through the crowd, her gilded shoes and jewellery glittering to match. She was a flake of precious metal embedded in a sea of bland sandstone, dazzling, arresting, even. She was impossible to ignore, which posed an issue, as ignoring her now was the only thing that would see her safely in his arms once this dreary exercise was complete.

She had soon been pulled into a conversation by a gaggle of his old classmates, her teeth gleaming in the candlelight as she offered them a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her dæmon was perched on her shoulder, and as his head swivelled around in the hope of spotting something that might interest him, he caught Asriel’s eye across the room. His little golden back straightened, and Asriel was glad to see Marisa’s attention follow her dæmon’s not long after, their eyes linking together like a key slotting into its lock. He only had to raise his eyebrows and tilt his head for her to sigh. She glanced at the clock and then shot him an unsympathetic look. He downed the rest of his wine in response, abandoned the glass on the windowsill and headed towards the door.

He fetched his coat from the cloakroom and sauntered down the Institute’s wide steps, sighing as the scent of sweat and smoke was chased away by the cool air of the night. He leaned against the limestone brickwork and watched the leaves falling from the trees across the street, waiting for whatever sound she’d use to communicate her irritation to wend its way into his ears. She appeared a few minutes later, knotting the belt of her leather trench coat with a huff.

“One hour. _One._ That’s all I asked.”

He glanced at his watch. “If you can bear to spend another eighteen minutes with those dullards, then be my guest. I’m leaving.”

She scowled, but started down the steps nonetheless, and he waited a few more seconds before he began to follow. He deplored the ridiculous pretences that she insisted they keep up, but the memory of the cold silence with which she’d tortured him for weeks after the last time he’d refused to play this game was vivid enough for him to walk several metres behind her until they reached a quiet side street nearby.

She did a quick sweep of the dark road before pressing a kiss to his lips. He sighed into her mouth and wrapped his arms around her, suppressing a huff as she pulled away almost immediately. “Where’s your car?” she said, fingering the cuff of his slate greatcoat, her nails scraping against his pulse point.

“Outside my house, where I left it.”

She stepped back from him. “What an entirely useless place for it to be. How do you propose we get back?”

“The same way I arrived.” He held his arm out to her. “Let’s walk. It’s a delightful evening.”

She shook her head. “Asriel, we can’t simply walk around London arm in arm.”

“If anyone questions us, just say I’m escorting you to the nearest taxi rank. You know, as a gentleman would.”

“Trying to argue that any of your actions are gentlemanly seems like the simplest way yet to incriminate ourselves.” She sighed. “It’ll take us an hour to get back to Chelsea, and then it won’t be long until I have to leave. It’s a waste of time _and_ it’s risky.”

Asriel blew out a rough breath and looked up at the stars, the sparse set of pinpricks bright for London. The autumn breeze was warm, the last vestiges of summer clinging to the air, and the moon was round and radiant. He could see the silver gleam reflected in her eyes. “There’ll be plenty of time for whatever we might want to do behind closed doors when we get back.”

“Asriel – ”

“We’ll walk through Battersea Park, which will be empty at this time, and it’s late enough that the embankment won’t be crowded either.” He tilted his head. “Come on, Marisa. It’s that or two taxis.”

“Two taxis it is, then.” 

“Well, I’m going to walk,” he said. “It’s too nice an evening to waste indoors, and I want to clear the fug of that room from my head. I’m sure you and Thorold will have a perfectly pleasant time while you wait for me.”

She was glaring at him. “I’ll simply go home, then.”

“Fine,” he said, more angrily than he meant to, and began to walk away.

The elaborate subterfuge that inevitably preceded the rare evenings they managed to spend together always made him thrum with frustration, and her endless refusal to grant him an inch more leeway than she’d arbitrarily decided they could afford only served to worsen his mood. It was bad enough that he’d had to sit through this lecture at all, the discussion of Carlisle’s new spectrometer design almost too inane to bear, but it was made worse because he knew that on another night, in another life, he’d have shaved and put on a dinner jacket and she’d have slipped into something silky and they’d be at a bar in Mayfair right now, ordering their third round of martinis and making the other patrons blush with their antics. There’d be no hourglass spooling sand in her mind, he wouldn’t have to waste precious mental energy on the logistics of spiriting her covertly back to his bedroom and she could attend lectures he considered tedious without him, because he’d feel no miserable desire to join her just so that he might prolong their time together by a pathetic hour further. She could do as she pleased and so could he, secure in the knowledge that the end of the evening would see them in each other’s arms once more, their roiling passion no longer another item on the list that had to be accounted for as his days unfolded, but the paper on which the list was written. It would not be like this, the two of them hidden away in a dark street, arguing about whether or not walking through London together constituted a dangerous task, their limited time sloughing away in haze of vexation that he felt powerless to prevent.

He continued walking towards the main road, too proud to spin around and slink back to her. He wanted to hear the sound of heels clicking against the pavement, a sign that she was rushing after him, but of course the only noise was the whirr of tyres against asphalt, Marisa the one person whose pride and obstinacy could rival his own.

It was their dæmons who forced their hands. Asriel’s purposeful strides lost their surety when he felt a sharp tug in his chest, and he turned to see Stelmaria loitering several metres behind him, the monkey by her side, his face buried in her fur, their souls clinging to each other while their humans stood stubbornly apart. She shot him a pleading look that Asriel was glad Marisa couldn’t see. He sighed and opened his arms, the smell of jasmine filling his nose as Marisa closed the gap between them and slipped into his embrace.

He kept his hands in his pockets as they walked towards Battersea Park, knowing that any attempt to brush her fingers or slip an arm around her waist would be met with staunch displeasure. Stelmaria soon began to prowl between them though, and when no one was around she would lash her tail against Marisa’s bare calves, and his lover would smile. It didn’t take long for the momentary frost between them to thaw, and soon they were so lost in conversation that they didn’t notice the clouds gathering above them, and the air thickening as the sky prepared for a downpour. They’d just reached the edge of the park when the first drops of rain hit Asriel’s crown.

Marisa grimaced as she looked up at the sky. “A delightful evening, isn’t that what you said?”

“It’s barely spitting,” he scoffed, though as the words left his mouth a large raindrop splashed onto his face.

They’d only made it a few paces into the trees when the clouds seemed to burst, the deluge soaking their clothes and creating unruly rills in the nearby earth. They huddled beneath a great oak tree, Asriel tucking Marisa into his coat with him as they sheltered from the torrent, and though he expected her to admonish him for bringing her here, he found her laughing instead, her face shining as it was spattered with water. He could hardly hear the sound over the din of the raindrops, but once he saw her face break into a smile and felt her shoulders start to shake, he let himself beam and fastened his mouth to hers.

They kissed in the rich, wet darkness, the soft rainwater mingling with the saliva they were trading back and forth until a great gale swept through the trees, disturbing the leaves and exposing them to the full force of the rainstorm. They both winced as the water dripped down their collars and soaked their hair, their dæmons trying desperately to huddle between them, both the gold and silver fur dulled by the dampness. Marisa grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards the gate.

“Where are we going?” he shouted.

She flashed him a grin as she pulled him down the glistening street, the road deserted in the face of the flash flood. It took them hardly a minute to reach her destination, and as he looked upon the church’s façade, he started to laugh again, though with the droplets streaming down his face, an onlooker might well have thought that he had burst into tears.

As they careered into the small building, Asriel was hit by the scent of stagnant air and cold stone and incense, a familiar combination that immediately had his senses heightened. Stelmaria bristled beside him as he slipped off his sodden coat and shook the water from his hair.

“Really, Marisa?” he said, looking around the small church. 

The wooden pews were worn and the pale stone pillars dinted, but the gold cross behind the altar glistened in the candlelight, as did the frames of the paintings that lined the walls. The soft yellow flames weren’t enough to illuminate the stained glass of the windows that decorated the ambulatory, but the moon was just managing to peek through the clouds enough to brighten the dove-dæmon nestled on Jesus’ shoulder, the bird’s eyes two exquisite shards of black glass.

“It’s the perfect place to shelter from a rainstorm, is it not?” She was smirking as she draped her coat across a pew, setting it out to dry. Her dress had escaped the rain largely unscathed, but her metallic heels were spattered with wet mud, and she grimaced as she slipped them off and placed them beside her bag and coat on the bench. Her dæmon had prowled through the nave and was perched on the altar, his hands clasping Stelmaria’s face as she placed her paws against the stone slab to reach him. “Dry and empty, with the doors always left unlocked for those in need of refuge.”

“Will it be empty?” he said, walking up the main aisle and peering into both chambers of the small transept.

“Do you see anyone else here?”

The transept deserted, he returned her smirk with equal enthusiasm. “Not a soul,” he said. He placed his hands on her hips and nudged her back against a pillar, grinding his pelvis against her and pressing sloppy kisses to her neck.

“Is it not enough that you regularly sully me with your sacrilege?” she murmured, running her hand through his damp hair as he lapped the storm from her skin. “You have to have me here too, of all places?”

Her voice was light and lyrical with amusement, and he grinned into her shoulder as his hand made its way beneath her dress. He brushed his fingers against the scrap of lace between her thighs, groaning when he found it damp. “There’s nothing on this earth that I’d like to do more than desecrate this place with you,” he said, slipping two fingers inside her. She moaned.

“We can always confess after, I suppose,” she said, rocking against his hand. “Wipe the slate clean, as it were.”

“Is that how it works?” he purred, adding another finger.

He felt her tense around him. “You - you have been to confession before, haven’t you?” 

He shook his head, smirking as her eyebrows shot up. “Does that really surprise you?”

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him roughly from her body. “But – before your first communion – ”

“Another ghastly ritual in which I refused to participate.”

“At seven years old?”

He nodded. “My mother stopped bothering me about it when I turned twelve.”

The shock on her face seemed genuine. “Were you at least christened?”

“Unfortunately.” He chuckled. “Though even as an infant, I was rather displeased by the whole charade, by all accounts. Apparently I screamed bloody murder for the whole ceremony.”

“Of course you did,” she said, shaking her head. She glanced over his shoulder, and when he turned to follow her gaze he realised she was looking at the confessional. It was an imposing structure, dark wood decorated with intricate carvings, two closed doors standing side by side, a stark wooden crucifix jutting from the top. He spun back around and grinned.

“No,” she said. “ _No._ ”

“You must be an expert after all these years. I can’t imagine you’ve ever run out of things to share,” he said, enjoying the scowl she gave him in response. He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her towards the booth.

“Come on. Show me.” He grabbed two votive candles in red glass holders and dipped into one of the chambers. He placed them on the small shelf that sat beneath the curtain dividing the confessional, dousing the tiny space in a ruby glow, and settled against the wood. She sighed, and then he heard a floorboard creak and her dress rustle as she sat down too.

A warm silence hung between them. “Who speaks first?” he said.

“I do,” she said. “I make the sign of the cross, and then I say: forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” 

He shifted on the seat as he felt himself stiffen. “Have you now?” he said lasciviously.

“Don’t interrupt. Then I tell you how long it’s been since my last confession.”

“I see,” he said, rubbing himself lazily through his trousers. “And?”

She hesitated before answering. “A little over ten months.”

That made him pause. He’d never once spent a Sunday morning with her, because attending Mass with her husband and his pallid constituents was a ritual she insisted she could not avoid. His mind started whirring. “Ten months?” he said. Then it came to him and he smiled, placing a hand on Stelmaria’s head and stroking her fur with his thumb. “We met ten months ago, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” she said, and the severity of her tone wiped the smile from his face.

“Marisa – ”

She tsked. “Confession is supposed to be anonymous.”

He rolled his eyes. “What does the priest call you, then?”

“My child, usually.” 

“I will not be doing that,” he said, and that made her laugh. “What’s next?”

“I confess my sins to you, and you counsel me.”

“Excellent.” There was another pause. “You’d better get started. We’ve only got a few hours.”

He’d hoped to provoke another laugh with that, but he was met only with silence. Her voice was harsh when she spoke again. “I have to start with any mortal sins.”

He frowned. “Have you committed any mortal sins in the last ten months?”

He could almost hear her eyes rolling. “ _This_ , you idiot. _Us_.”

“How can this be a mortal sin? It’s not as if anyone’s died.”

“That’s not – ” She broke off and exhaled sharply. “Thou shalt not commit adultery is the sixth commandment. Do you know anything about the Church?”

“My brain is rather adept at dispensing with information for which it has no use. It’s funny how quickly most of what I’d gathered from the Bible sloughed away.”

“Blaspheming in a confessional,” she said mockingly. “I can’t think what the penance is for that.”

“Feel free to consult your priest another time and let me know. Come now. Let’s get back to all the sinning you’ve been doing.”

She sighed. “I’ve been having an affair,” she said, more earnestly than he’d hoped given his erection. “For months now.”

“I see,” Asriel said. “Tell me more about it.” He unbuckled his belt, and her breaths became harsher at the sound of the metal clinking.

“It’s hard to know where to start,” she said. “He’s a heretic, and a blasphemer, and he enjoys nothing more than desecrating my marriage.”

“He sounds interesting,” Asriel said, unbuttoning his trousers and exposing himself. The air in the booth was warm now, and the soft light was making him pleasantly drowsy. “What sinful things does he do to you?”

“Everything he does to me is sinful. If it were virtuous, he wouldn’t bother,” she said, and he smirked as he twirled his fingers in the dark curls that decorated his pubis and began to stroke himself. “There’s no part of my body he hasn’t explored. He pleasures me with his cock, his hands, his face. I daresay there’s no patch of my skin his tongue hasn’t touched.”

Asriel grunted, his grip tightening. “Go on,” he said.

“He’s been inside every part of me. My mouth. My cunt. He’s sodomised me – ” She broke off and rasped, and Asriel could hear the sound of rhythmic slickness coming from her side of the confessional. “More than once,” she added, and they both grinned. “He likes to bite me, bruise me, _mark_ me. He’s come inside me countless times. I can taste him in me, on me, for hours.”

“You’ve never protested that.”

“It hardly seems – ah – like there’d be much point,” she said. “He does as he pleases.”

“As if it doesn’t please you too,” he scoffed, placing his free hand against the wall to steady himself. “You’re confessing your sins, are you not? Don’t lie to me.”

She moaned. “Of course it does,” she forced out.

“You like having all of him.”

“I have all of him already,” she said, and he groaned on the other side of the curtain.

“And does he have all of you?”

There was a pause, the only sound their heavy, hot breaths. “Does he?” Asriel said, squeezing his tip.

“How can you – ask that – ” she said, her breathing hitching, her fingers no doubt still sliding through her folds. “I risk my life for you every time we meet.”

“How could I not ask that,” he countered, “when every time we meet, you insist on leaving after?”

A hard thwack rang out, her foot colliding with the wood of the wall, and he doubted it was from a jolt of pleasure. “There is no other person in this world who could ever have me like this,” she said. “The parts of me you see – Asriel, how can you doubt that I – ” She broke off and gasped, the soft, sweet sound reverberating through the confessional.

He felt almost bashful then, because he didn’t doubt it. He never had. His erection throbbed, and he was overcome with a bracing need to clasp her flesh in his hands. He wanted to fill her until he could taste himself on her tongue. “Marisa,” he groaned. “I want – ”

The thought had clearly bled from his mind to hers, because before he could finish the sentence, she’d hurtled into his side of the confessional and clambered into his lap, her dæmon closing the door behind her before he launched himself at Stelmaria. She pushed her drawers to the side and slotted him into her body in one swift move, grinding on him, the lace of her underwear rubbing against the thousands of nerve endings clustered in her clitoris and creating a delightful friction. They were already panting, their dæmons tangled up at their feet, the tiny booth a furnace as they made love in the scarlet candlelight.

He placed his hands on her hips as she rode him. “You wicked thing,” he said, his voice harsh. “Interrupting your confession to commit adultery on holy ground. How many,” he broke off with a groan, “how many Hail Marys will absolve you of _that?”_

She cried out. “Asriel,” she said, and he felt a new burst of moisture flood him inside her. He grinned and gripped her harder.

“You’re depraved,” he said, and she slammed down on him, forcing him deeper. They both moaned. “What would he say, if he knew? That you’d fucked me like this?”

“He’d – he’d – ”

“He’d call you a whore. Everyone would.”

“Yes,” she nodded, her cheeks flushed. She was sopping. “Yes.”

“You’re fucking soaking, Marisa. You – you like it, don’t you?” he groaned. She nodded, biting his shoulder to stifle her cries. “Let them hear you,” he said, his thighs tensing as desire almost overwhelmed him. “Tell the world who you are. Whore. Heretic. _Sinner_.”

She came so loudly he wondered if she’d started to sob, and thrashed violently enough that he worried she might concuss herself against the booth’s wall. Her cunt clamped down around him, choking his cock, and the sound of her orgasm echoing around the hot, sweaty confessional chamber pulled him over with her, the force of his ejaculation so great that he almost jerked them both off the bench.

They panted together in the soft red light, Asriel’s arms wrapped around her as she continued to straddle him, Marisa’s lips pressing soft, lazy kisses to his face as their rapid breathing eased.

“What’s my penance, then?” she rasped, slotting her arms around his back and placing her head on his shoulder, her chest still heaving.

“What?”

“My penance. You tell me how to absolve my sins, and only if I go forth and do so am I forgiven.”

“Consider yourself washed clean, then,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “I have no penance for you.”

Her breath was hot against his neck. “That’s not how confession works.”

“I have no penance for you,” he said, ignoring her, “because I heard no sin there.”

She froze in his arms. He expected her to admonish him for his arrogance, his blasphemy, but all she did was press herself against him, as if she wanted to be subsumed into his body, their pounding hearts no longer just in time but merged somehow into a single great muscle, vigorous and essential. He closed his eyes as he held her, breathing in her smell, enjoying the feel of the soft wool beneath his fingertips as he drew patterns across her back, basking in the softness of her lips as she pressed them against his neck. Her breathing began to settle and deepen, as if she was falling asleep in his arms, and Asriel pressed a kiss to her hair before saying, “How could passion like that be a sin, Marisa?” She said nothing, though due to slumber or disagreement he couldn’t tell.

They stayed there for a long while, dozing in each other’s arms, lulled almost to sleep by the pleasant warmth of the confessional and the faint sound of rain still spattering the church’s roof. In fact, Asriel might just have slipped into unconsciousness when the sound of the opposite door opening shattered their fragile peace, Asriel and Marisa’s faces doused in alarm as someone settled themselves in the other chamber.

“Father, you have no idea how grateful I was to see the light on at this late hour,” a woman’s voice was saying from behind the curtain, accompanied by the fluttering of agitated feathers. “I thought I’d have to pray alone, but the Authority really does provide in times of need, doesn’t He? I have sinned, Father, and I need forgiveness, and counsel. It’s been a few weeks since my last confession, I know, and I’m sorry for that too, but I couldn’t bear to wait…”

The four beings clustered in the tiny chamber held themselves still like statues. Marisa widened her eyes at him. _Say something_ , she mouthed. He could feel her heart pounding.

He blinked, his mouth hanging open, his head shaking lightly. She rolled her eyes and pressed her lips to his ear. “What do you wish to tell me, my child?” she whispered, and he found himself repeating the words.

The woman was close to tears. “It’s my husband, you see – well, it’s _not_ my husband, that’s rather the point. He works such long hours, and he hardly _looks_ at me anymore, he hasn’t touched me in months, but still – I shouldn’t have – I shouldn’t – ” A noisy sob seeped through the curtain.

Marisa grinned against his ear, ruffling the hairs of his tragus. “What did you do?” he said.

“His brother has been visiting, and he’s been so _kind_ to me, you see? So much like my Thomas, but kinder, softer, like when we’d first met, before the children came along. We’ve spent so many evenings alone together, and then we – we – ”

“Yes?” Asriel said, his cheek flush against Marisa’s breast.

“He kissed me!” the woman wailed. “And well, I kissed back, but only briefly, and then I came straight here. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s awful, I know…”

He felt Marisa stifle a laugh against the top of his head. “That is awful,” she whispered in his ear. “It’s despicable.” He paused. “Say it,” she hissed, and he did as she wished.

The woman sniffed. “What?”

“You have done something truly heinous,” Asriel parroted, raising an eyebrow as his lover spewed vitriol into his ear. “Monstrous.”

“Really?” the woman said, her voice shaking. “It was just one kiss, and – ”

“No,” Asriel said. “Think of your husband. Your _children_.”

He pulled away from Marisa and tilted his head, unimpressed. She rolled her eyes.

“I know,” the woman cried. “It would kill him to find out.”

“But you must tell him,” Marisa whispered in his ear. “That’s the only way to absolve yourself. You must tell him the truth, even if it destroys him.”

He began to shake his head at her, but then he paused. A grin spread across his face. “You must confess to your husband,” Asriel said, and Marisa looked pleased until he continued. “He must know the truth. You may have sinned tonight, but the greater sin is every day that passes in which you lie to him – nay, to _yourself_ – about what you truly want. Any authority worth believing in would not want you to rot away in a miserable marriage until one of you expires.”

The glee that had been dancing in Marisa’s eyes was gone, extinguished like a candle in the wind. His gaze pierced hers as he continued.

“No amount of _prayer_ can truly right this wrong. Go forth, my child, and speak your mind. Tell him the truth and liberate yourself. There’s a magnificent life waiting for you on the other side. Show some _strength_ , M – my child. Don’t wallow in weakness and call it virtue.”

He grasped her cheeks roughly and tried to pull her in for a kiss, but she resisted, resting her hands on his shoulders so that he couldn’t clasp her to him. He placed his hands on either side of her ribcage instead, and swiped his thumbs lovingly over her nipples, feeling them stiffen through the thin wool of her dress.

“Is that – is that really necessary?” the woman said. Asriel stifled a sigh; he’d forgotten she was there. “It was one kiss, and I do love him, and I don’t think I _would_ have a magnificent life with his brother. Isn’t there something else I can do to repent?”

“No,” he said harshly, staring into Marisa’s cold, beautiful eyes. “The truth is the only thing that can free you.”

A blanket of silence coated the confessional. “I see,” the woman said, after a beat. “Well, Father, if that’s really what you think – ”

“It is,” he said, his fingers digging into Marisa’s torso.

There was another sniff, a stifled sob. Then the door flung open and the woman wailed as she clattered across the church and out into the night.

They stayed frozen until they heard the great oak door of the church slam shut. They stared at each other in the flickering light, the candles now pools of glistening wax, and Marisa began to laugh. Her face split into a wide grin, her teeth gleaming like pearls, and he couldn’t help but laugh with her as they clutched each other in the cramped chamber.

“You might just have ruined her life,” Marisa said, climbing off his lap and stepping out into the dusky church, the scent of damp air and incense overwhelming once again.

“What?” he said, buckling his belt. “Oh. Yes. Perhaps.”

Marisa wandered through the nave of the church, her bare feet soft against the limestone, little stones skipping across a lake. “It’s stopped raining,” she said, glancing up at the silent ceiling.

Asriel felt an ache settle in his chest, and he coughed to chase it away. “So it has.”

They dressed in silence, the only sound the rustle of their coats and the splash of the holy water as Marisa wiped her heels clean in the basin. They stepped out into the cool night, the smell of petrichor fresh and rich in the air, the cobblestones glistening, the whole street scrubbed clean by the sudden downpour. They stood before each other on the empty pavement, Stelmaria rubbing her jaw against the monkey’s head, his hands planted in her fur.

“I told you that we’d never make it back to Chelsea,” she said, but he didn’t smile at the quip. She sighed. “Goodnight, Asriel,” she said, kissing him. She’d just turned to walk away when he reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Walk with me a little while longer,” he said. He glanced up at the sky, the clouds dispersed now that the storm had passed, the moon bright and beautiful and the stars studded around it like diamonds. “It is a delightful evening, after all.”

She gave him a soft smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She stroked his cheek. “I’m sorry, my love,” she said. “No.”

He nodded and stalked away without another word, Stelmaria several paces behind him. The snow leopard tried not to waver, but she couldn’t help glancing back at the sound of the monkey crying out for her, his golden arm outstretched. The two dæmons held each other’s gaze for as long as they could bear while their humans walked in opposite directions, until the pain became too great, and then they had no choice but to tear themselves apart, and continue on alone.

**Author's Note:**

> There is not enough Masriel church sex on this site, and this is what I can offer to help rectify that imbalance. In fact, the only one I can think of is @AdelaCathcart’s (very, very beautiful!) fic _Star of the Sea_. You should all go and read that, after you’ve left me a comment here, of course *wink*. Them fucking in a church will always be delicious.


End file.
